


Something Fishy

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Crack Treated Seriously, English gave me homophones and I'll be damned if I don't take advantage of it, Fish, For a given value of seriously, M/M, Magical Realism, Misunderstandings, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: Steve meets Bucky. Bucky meets Steve. Some things are meant to be. But even when something's meant to be, you might need to work a little to make it happen.(And that's made a tiny bit harder when your universe, out of all the infinite multiverse, managed to get things so completely mixed-up.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 122
Kudos: 934





	Something Fishy

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Рыбки в мутной воде](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517071) by [fandom Evans and roles 2020 (fandom_Evans_and_roles)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Evans_and_roles/pseuds/fandom%20Evans%20and%20roles%202020), [philippa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/philippa/pseuds/philippa)



> I have to thank Alby_Mangroves and Nonymos, because it was their reactions to this idea that _really_ cemented my desire to write it :D

Steve Rogers—taller than necessary, broader than necessary, with shoulders that really shouldn't fit inside his shirt but somehow did, probably held there by sheer will power alone (he had it in spades, after all)—was having a good day. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and despite the good weather there weren't that many people milling around the riverside park as he made his way across the grass, heading for the wooden docks that stretched out into the river.

He was carrying a fishing pole, resting casually over one shoulder as he sauntered down to the docks, paying no attention to the stares it was attracting. Well, that wasn't precisely true. He _was_ paying attention, he always paid attention, but he didn't let it show.

Floating near his left shoulder was an ugly fish. It was long and flat bodied, mouth twisted in a curl. Its fins were short. Most of it was white, a thick band that circled its body, the rest of it a plain and unassuming brown.

If you had to sum the fish up in one word, _unimpressed_ would do very well.

No one stared at the fish, but then why would they? Everyone was born with a sole, and while Steve Rogers' might be a little unusual with its stark white band, a man with a sole was nothing out of the ordinary.

A man with a fishing pole, however…

Despite the soles that were with them from birth, people _did_ eat fish. There were places survival would be impossible without it and, people being people, there were also plenty who just liked the taste, scarfing it down even as they decried the act of fishing. It meant fishing was left to the professionals, the commercial operators, who did it where no one had to see.

Of course, as a rule, absolute statements should be avoided because there'll always be someone itching to come along and prove you wrong.

Someone like Steve Rogers. Who reached the end of the cute little dock and made himself comfortable, legs dangling over the river, baited the hook, and tossed the fishing line in the water.

Plenty of looks were directed his way, verging from glares to carefully veiled curiosity. He ignored them all and let the peace of the river settle into his bones. His sole sank down to rest on the dock next to him. It didn't care if he fished. Steve sometimes thought it found the whole thing entertaining, but it was, even after all these years, almost impossible to read.

Like all soles, it had been born with him, a tiny fish that had grown into a less tiny fish that was now about the size of his hand. And it wasn't a small hand. When he bothered to think about it—which wasn't often; who really spent much time thinking about their sole?—he figured his sole's weird albino band was because of how sick he'd been when he was born. He knew they hadn't expected him to live.

But he did, and he grew, and grew and now he put on muscle as easy as breathing.

"It's probably," he always said when someone he didn't like remarked on his size, when they were jealous or leering, "because of all the fishing." And then he smirked while his sole scowled at them.

His sole could be a grumpy bastard. Which was fair; so could Steve.

Steve's contemplation of his sole was interrupted by, "Are you fishing?"

There hadn't been any condemnation in the words, but a question that stupid deserved only one response. "Nope."

"Right. My mistake."

The sound of shoes on wood signalled someone moving closer and Steve glanced over his shoulder. There was a guy watching him, mouth quirked in a wry smile, and he stopped moving when Steve looked at him.

"What are you doing, then?"

The sole floating over his shoulder was a compact thing, the frill outlining its body turning to little spikes on its head. Despite its muddy brown colour, it was oddly…cute. The guy it belonged to was a bit more than that, and his grey-blue eyes shone in the sun as he cocked his head, waiting for Steve to answer.

"Taking my pet worm out for a swim."

Something that could have been a strangled snort almost escaped the guy. He cleared his throat. "I don't think worms can swim."

Steve let his eyes widen and clapped the hand not holding the fishing pole dramatically to his heart. "You mean I drowned my worm?"

The guy nodded sadly. "I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I'm afraid your worm's gone to the big dirt field in the sky."

With a tragic sigh, Steve let his head fall. "He had a good life." Then he grinned. "I'll just have to use him for bait, then, so I guess I am fishing after all."

The guy laughed, bright and amused. "So yes?"

"Of course, yes. I mean what else did you think I was doing?"

"I was more surprised than actually asking."

Steve huffed a laugh. "You and everyone else."

"Nah, my uncle used to take me fishing back in Indiana when I was a kid. It was," he paused, then continued with, "peaceful."

"It is." Steve thought about it for a moment, then said, "Steve Rogers. Grab a seat if you want to."

"James Barnes." He sat next to Steve, let his legs dangle over the dock. "Thanks."

Steve's sole rose up off the dock, swimming through the air to meet James' sole already coming towards it. Steve held his breath, could feel James tense up, and they met each other's eyes. There was always this moment, meeting someone new. Always this moment of possibility. That a complete stranger might be the one and change your life forever. Steve's sole circled James' and they touched noses, bodies brushing together, twisting together in the air, then, after a moment of hesitation, they split apart and swam back to float over their respective person's shoulder.

"Guess not," James murmured.

"Guess not," Steve echoed.

They were quiet for a bit, then Steve shook it off. "Here," he offered, holding out the fishing pole. "If you want."

James' eyes danced. "We've only just met and you're offering to let me hold your pole? Steve, I'm shocked."

It could have been sleazy. It could have been slimy. Instead, it was so light-hearted and charming, it surprised a laugh out of him. "Tell me the truth," Steve said, shaking his head. "Are you the worst?"

His nose crinkled as he grinned. "I have my moments."

Steve passed him the fishing pole, and James handled it easily, twitching the line through the water. 

Their soles settled to rest on the dock between them, not quite touching but closer than Steve was used to seeing his sole get to another sole. Usually its grumpiness extended to everyone.

"So Steve."

Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"Can I ask why you're fishing down on the docks?"

"Well, like I said, my worm drowned…" James gave him a look so unimpressed it was like he was channelling Steve's sole. "Okay, okay." He tapped his fingers on his thigh. The reason was short and simple but held so much weight he didn't know how to answer without dragging in emotional baggage. "When I was a kid I wanted to do what my dad did, so my mom bought me a fishing pole and used to bring me down here. He was a fisherman. Commercial, one of the big fleets. It's kind of a tradition for me now, a way of remembering them."

Steve saw sympathy in James' eyes, knew he'd picked up things Steve had left unsaid, but he didn't ask any questions. All he said was, "You'd better call me Bucky."

"Bucky?"

"Nickname, long story, not that interesting, but James is for strangers and assholes and I think you're not quite a stranger anymore."

"Wellll," Steve said.

"What?"

"Maybe not a stranger, but I _can_ be kind of an asshole."

"Self-awareness, I like that."

"I try and be honest."

"Okay, honestly, were you actually expecting to catch anything?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "It's not the catching that matters. It's…"

Bucky gave him a half-smile rich with understanding. "I get it, Steve."

Steve gave a quick nod and changed the subject. They spent a companionable ten minutes shooting the shit about baseball, then Bucky's phone rang. Turned out he was late meeting whoever was on the other end, and he left in a scramble with a hurried goodbye, his sole swimming over his shoulder.

Steve had been on the verge of offering his number, but he never quite managed it before Bucky left and obviously it was too late once he was gone. There was nothing he could do about it, or about the pang of regret.

It might have been Steve's imagination, but as he packed up and walked back home, his sole seemed even grumpier than usual.

Steve scowled at his sole.

It was unmoved by his scowl, blithely swimming along beside him like it hadn't been responsible for Steve's coffee maker crashing to the ground and shattering.

Why it had decided to dart in front of him just as he'd been pulling the pot out, startling him into jumping back and dragging the whole thing over the edge of the counter, would forever remain a mystery. But whatever the reason, here he was, out on the street where there were people to deal with before he'd had coffee. There were truly times when men's soles were trying.

He pulled open the door to the closest coffee shop, which swung open like he'd suddenly acquired the strength of ten men, and almost crashed into the guy who'd just pushed it open.

They stood, blinking stupidly at each other, then Steve's brain woke up enough to say, "Bucky?"

"Steve, hey!" He had a coffee in hand and Steve eyed it longingly before lifting his eyes to meet Bucky's. "What are you doing here?"

"Is this the fishing question again?"

Bucky laughed. "I guess it is." He stepped back and held the door for Steve. "Come on, come in."

When Steve brushed past him, he followed him in, standing beside him while he lined up. Their soles briefly touched, then moved apart.

"Don't you have your coffee?"

"Fishing question," Bucky murmured with a tiny grin, waggling his cup.

He'd walked into that one. "I mean, why are you lining up again?"

"I'm not. I'm keeping you company while you line up."

It was almost as good as caffeine in the waking up department. "It would be rude to ask why, wouldn't it?"

"A little, but you did warn me about your," he glanced at the people in front of them, one of whom was holding a small child by the hand, and very obviously didn't say asshole, "rude tendencies."

"True. Bucky, why are you keeping me company?"

He lifted one shoulder. "Eh."

"That's not an answer."

Bucky just sipped his coffee, eyes sparkling with amusement.

There were four people between Steve and coffee. The man currently ordering was producing enough _um_ s to fill a small gorge, even though his sole obviously knew what he wanted, helpfully bumping into the menu board, so Steve knew he'd be waiting awhile. That pang of regret hadn't really gone away; he had no desire to add to it.

"I was thinking," he said, "that we should swap numbers. Since we're not exactly strangers anymore."

"Subtle," Bucky said, sounding amused.

"I'm not really good at subtle," Steve admitted.

"I'm starting to figure that out." He held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

Steve dug it out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over. Bucky tucked his coffee into his elbow, typed in his number while his sole peered down at the screen, and sent a text. "There. You've got mine and I've got yours." He glanced at the screen as he handed it back and made a face. "And I really need to go or I'm going to be late."

"That's a problem for you, huh?"

"Not usually. But then I don't usually run into a distraction." He saluted Steve with his coffee. "I'll see you, Steve."

"See you, Bucky."

When he was gone, Steve tucked his phone back into his pocket. The small child turned around to stare at him, her tiny, mustard-yellow sole curled against her neck, and he waved his fingers at her. She smiled and waved back until her adult moved up to the counter, and Steve was one step closer to coffee.

The next few days were a whirlwind. A former client had given his name to someone who'd passed it to someone else and now he was looking at the kind of opportunity that didn't come around very often: a massive outdoor mural for a massive corporation that wanted to pay him a massive amount of money to help their new building blend into the community.

Still, even with the phone calls and lining up meetings and sending a portfolio of his work, he still found time to text Bucky. Nothing serious, nothing big. He kept it casual.

No response.

He didn't go crazy, but he sent a few more over the next couple of days, casual and friendly.

Nothing. Not even the traditional blow off of: _new phone, who's dis?_

It became pretty clear Bucky had just been humouring him when he gave him his number. What he didn't know was why.

"I should have tried for subtle," he said, staring at his sole. It stared back, swimming in the air in front of him. "Maybe he didn't feel like he could say no?" 

His sole gradually settled to rest on his knee. It looked as grumpy and unimpressed as always, but it waved its stubby fins in what Steve had long ago figured out was supposed to be comforting.

"Thanks."

He didn't know whether to be mad at Bucky or himself. He settled on a little of both. Of course Bucky didn't have to talk to him, but he could have done it without being a dick.

A few days later, Steve was standing on the sidewalk in front of the large block of a building he was supposed to blend into the buildings around it. The elegant buildings around it, that were more than slabs of concrete propped up against each other.

Good thing he liked a challenge.

"So, you see, while we like the firm impression it gives—our company's strong, like our building is strong—we think it needs a touch of colour." She was the vice-president of…something, with a black on black suit and a sole the colour of midnight mud that bobbed next to her head in time with her voice. She began explaining the company's vision, gesturing with her arms, but Steve had a thick, glossy booklet that told him the same things she was saying, so he tuned her out in favour of studying the massive concrete wall. Scaffolding wouldn’t be enough. He'd need to do a lot of it with ropes and a harness.

It should be fun.

Steve nodded as she paused. "Of course," he agreed, no idea what he was agreeing to, and she kept going.

Suddenly, his sole darted away from him and circled around behind them to swim into the air above the sidewalk. A compact brown sole briefly rose to meet it, before dropping back down to hover above the shoulder of…

Bucky. Steve almost didn't recognise him. Both times before he'd been dressed casually, jeans and a shirt, hair loose over his shoulders. Now, though—now he was the definition of _professional,_ hair pulled back, gorgeous in a sharp charcoal grey suit, blue shirt giving his eyes the depth of the sea.

Steve met those eyes as Bucky walked past. He tried to control his expression, keep the half hurt, half anger from showing, and knew he was failing. Bucky's footsteps slowed, confusion on his face, followed by sudden clarity. He glanced at the woman next to him, a redhead dressed just as sharply, then mouthed, "I lost my phone," hand on his heart, nodding earnestly.

"Mr Rogers?" The vice-president had noticed his inattention.

He wrenched his attention away from Bucky. Both she and her sole were frowning at him. "Sorry. I was just hit with an idea and wanted to check it. What if we brought the skyline of the neighbourhood across onto the mural?"

She loved the idea, started waving her hands around as she sketched in the air—Steve sensed a frustrated artist lurking inside the corporate skin—and Steve did his best to fight back a smile.

Bucky hadn't been humouring him after all. He'd just lost his phone.

"Will you stop poking me? You're sharp! What are you even doing?"

Steve stopped, hands wrapped around the handle of his shopping cart, and stared at the end of the aisle. The grocery store was almost deserted at this time of night, so the confused voice wasn't attracting much attention.

"Ack, stop it!"

Bucky backed into view, hands held out in front of him, warding off his sole, who was making determined little rushes at him.

Steve's sole wiggled its tail.

"Bucky," he called, and Bucky looked down the aisle. His sole gave one last rush, ending up cradled in his hands.

"Steve." He looked down at his sole, then opened his hands to let it float up to hover near his shoulder. "Uh, hi." He stayed where he was, standing near the bright pink display of unicorn Froot Loops. It gave Steve enough time to decide, however good he'd looked in that suit, he looked better in jeans and the soft sweater he was wearing, his hair shoved haphazardly behind one ear. "I really did lose my phone."

"I believed you."

"Okay, good." He hesitated, then walked down the aisle to stand at the end of Steve's cart, his sole bobbing forward to meet Steve's in a brief touch. "I'm sorry I couldn’t stop and talk. We were heading to a meeting we couldn’t be late for."

"I couldn’t have talked anyway. I was already in a meeting." Bucky was looking at him curiously, so he added, "You know that big ugly concrete building?"

"That's a fishing question, right? No one could miss that thing." 

"It's gonna be my job to try and make it blend into the neighbourhood a little better."

"Are you a magician? Are you going to hey presto it and make it disappear?"

"Not quite. I am going to put a great big mural on one side of it, though."

"You're an artist," Bucky said with a touch of wonder.

"I'm an artist."

"That's _cool_."

Steve cracked a smile. "Cool?"

"Shut up, it is, and you know it."

"I've always wanted to be cool," Steve mused.

"Okay, now you're being deeply uncool."

"That was short-lived."

"Easy come, easy go," Bucky said and they grinned at each other. Steve felt them both relax, like they'd passed a kind of test.

"Did you get a new phone?" he asked.

"Today. About an hour ago, actually. And I got your texts."

Steve shifted a little awkwardly. One at a time, they were casual. Arriving all together they could have seemed anything but. 

Bucky didn't seem bothered, though. "I liked the cat picture."

"Well, cats. You can't go wrong."

Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket, shiny and new without even a case to protect it, and offered it to Steve after unlocking it. "If you'd do the honours?"

"You can't just add me from the texts?"

"I could," Bucky said and pushed the phone at him.

Steve tried to supress his smile as he took the phone and put his number in. "Done."

As Bucky took his phone back his hand closed around Steve's. "And for the record, I wouldn’t do that." His eyes were serious as they met Steve's, his fingers strong and warm. "Not to you, not to anyone. If I wanted to cut off contact with you, I'd tell you." He squeezed once, then let go, plucking the phone from Steve's hand. "Hard to imagine that happening, though."

His smile was warm, his eyes warmer, and Steve swallowed hard.

"Bucky," he began, "would you—"

His phone rang. Normally he'd ignore it, since he'd just decided to go for it and ask Bucky out, but it wasn't the normal ring. It was the ring he'd given to the VP. And that wasn't a call he could ignore, not when the contract wasn't signed yet.

"Damn it. I'm sorry, I have to take this."

Bucky gave him an understanding nod as Steve answered.

"Steve, I've got the most marvellous idea," she began, and then he was listening to, to give her credit, what was actually a good idea, but not one he wanted to hear when Bucky was right there.

After a few minutes, when it became clear the call wasn't going to end anytime soon, Bucky touched his arm. "I'm gonna go," he said softly, and Steve nodded. "Good luck."

His sole lingered, staring at Steve's sole, then whirled and followed Bucky as they disappeared around the unicorn Froot Loops.

The text arrived from Bucky the next morning: _Instead of randomly running into each other, do you want to make a plan to meet somewhere?_

_Sounds good. Ideas?_

_How about a movie? The one about the guy who made it out of the desert alive because his sole helped him after his plane crashed's supposed to be good._

_Sole Survivor?_

_That's the one._

_Works for me. Want to grab food first?_

_And that works for me._

And just like that, Steve had a… Huh. He had no idea. Maybe a date? Maybe not. Whatever it was, the idea of spending time with Bucky made him a little giddy.

"Guess I didn't screw it up after all," he said to his sole. For once, it didn't look entirely grumpy.

Steve let Bucky choose where to eat, and the food was good, just the right amount of spicy, but the company was better.

Bucky was… It felt like he'd known Bucky his whole life even while each moment was a little revelation. A new thing learned, whether it was that he'd been in the baking club at school and could still make a pie that would knock your socks off, or the way he laughed with his whole body when Steve told him about sinking into a mud puddle when he was six because his sole had led him across the deep part.

"Your sole is a menace," Bucky told him and Steve laughed and agreed while his sole flared its fins. 

"Yeah, it is. It was always getting me in trouble when we were young. But it's mine, you know?"

They lingered so long over coffee and cherry pie—that Bucky pronounced _adequate_ in a faux-snotty voice that made Steve laugh—that they missed the start of the movie.

"Go in late or wait for the next one?" Steve asked.

"Neither's appealing. I hate missing the beginning and, honestly, I'm not up for staying out that late on a weeknight." He flapped a hand at Steve. "We can't all be artists and make our own hours. Some of us have to keep office time."

"Hey, I wasn't going to say anything." 

"You weren't, were you?" Bucky put his chin on his hand and gazed at him.

"Nope."

"Huh."

"Do people usually?"

"We've got a bunch of people in the office, they party every night. They tend to give shit to anyone who doesn't."

"Sound like assholes to me, Bucky."

"I'm not gonna disagree."

Steve didn't want the night to end. He didn't want to let Bucky go. Not yet. "We could head down to the river?"

"Are you hiding fishing gear somewhere?" He made a show of looking Steve over. "If you are, I'm not sure I want to know where." There was laughter in his voice, laughter in his eyes, and Steve felt giddy all over again.

"Play your cards right and you might find out." He grinned and stood up. "Come on, a walk will help you digest that adequate pie."

"It was actually really good."

"You ate two pieces. I figured it was a little better than adequate."

There was a brief argument over who was going to pay, which Steve won by dint of sheer stubbornness and, according to Bucky, cheating.

"It's not cheating, Bucky. It's just who I am."

"It's cheating when you use who you are to stop me from getting to the counter."

"Life's hard all over," Steve told him, and continued taking advantage of his size to block Bucky from reaching the narrow counter while he paid.

They bid farewell to the very amused hostess, whose pale grey sole seemed extremely interested in both Steve's and Bucky's, swimming over to peer at both of them, and then they were out in the cool night air, their soles swimming side by side, Steve's over his right shoulder and Bucky's over his left.

It was a short walk to the riverside park, quiet and almost deserted apart from a few late night dogwalkers and a cyclist or two, and their feet shushed across the grass as they made their way down towards the water.

They ambled along the wooden boardwalk, shoulders and hands occasionally brushing, not talking but not awkward with it. It was comfortable. Easy. The only time Steve could remember feeling this peaceful was sitting on the dock with a fishing pole in his hands.

He glanced over at Bucky. Bucky, who was objectively gorgeous, but it was more than that. There was something about him that tugged at some part of Steve no one had ever touched. As if he felt Steve's eyes on him, he looked over. His steps gradually slowed, and Steve slowed with him until they were standing still.

Bucky turned to face him. He was so close Steve could feel the warmth of him. "Bucky…" he said, voice soft, not quite a question.

A boat screamed down the river right next to the bank, motor racing, loud music and drunken yells shattering the silence. Steve winced. 

The corner of Bucky's mouth quirked and he stepped back. "Probably better call it a night."

He wanted to reach out and drag Bucky back, and he curled his fingers to stop himself. "I'll walk you to the subway."

They didn't make it more than a few feet onto the grass before their soles went crazy. They dashed forward, divebombing them both, spinning and darting around and around, sending Steve backing madly across the grass as Bucky danced out of the way.

"What the hell?" Bucky breathed, eyes wide as Steve's sole dove straight at his face. He leapt backwards, skidded on the grass, and started to fall.

Steve caught him and pulled him in, but he had to twist them both sideways to avoid a determined rush from Bucky's sole and they overbalanced, Steve twisting to land on his back with Bucky on top of him. He couldn't help a quiet, "Ooph," but his arms were around Bucky, holding him safely in place.

"Shit, Steve." Bucky started to scramble off him, but the sudden light flaring into life froze him in place.

In the air above them, Bucky's sole circled Steve's, their bodies twining together, and where they touched, they glowed.

Everyone in the world was born with a sole. And every sole in the world, somewhere, had a mate. That was always the hope, meeting someone new. Always the hope that their sole might be your sole's mate.

Bucky's hand closed on Steve's arm as he turned his head to follow their soles, dancing together in the night sky. As they danced, they changed, transforming from ugly fish into radiant orbs almost too bright to look at.

Neither of them turned away. Bucky clung to Steve, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and Steve hugged him tightly, chin pressed into his shoulder. Those were their soles up there, sinking into each other, becoming the single shining star they were always meant to be, a blazing light that grew brighter and brighter until it flashed away into the sky.

It was meant to happen. It was good. It was right. It meant you'd done what you were supposed to do, you'd helped your sole find its mate. 

He could feel the sheer joy of it, but no one had told him it'd also be a little sad.

"I guess they were sole mates after all," Bucky said softly, still watching the spot where their soles had become one, not noticing or not caring that he was still lying across Steve.

"I guess they were." Steve only had eyes for Bucky. His sole was gone, both their soles were gone, they'd turned out to be the other half of each other, but he and Bucky were still here. Gently, carefully he slid his hand along Bucky's jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. "Bucky."

Bucky's head whipped around, eyes wide, to stare at him, and Steve jerked his hand back like he'd been burned. "Sorry. Sorry, I thought—"

"No!"

Steve's gut curled like burnt paper.

"No. Damn it." Bucky put his forehead on Steve's, their noses mashing together. "That's not what I meant. I meant no, don't take your hand away. I mean no, you weren't wrong. I meant no, whatever you were going to do, keep doing it."

"Kind of mixed messages there, Bucky," he murmured, but he couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips.

"I'll mixed message you," he muttered and then Steve was having the life kissed out of him. He wrapped his arms around Bucky, holding him close, and the burnt paper in his gut flared into incandescent life.

It wasn't until a few months later, when they were lying in Bucky's bed (soon to be Steve and Bucky's bed, since Steve was moving in next week), that Bucky, sounding thoughtful, said, "Steve…"

"Yeah?" He didn't lift his head from where it was resting on Bucky's back as he traced idle patterns down Bucky's spine.

"I've been wondering something. Our soles were mates, they would have known when they first met. So how come it took them so long to bond? That's something that usually happens right away."

"I don't know. Does it matter?" But he could tell Bucky was going somewhere with this, so he shifted to lay his head on the pillow, so Bucky would know he was paying attention.

"You don't think." He stopped, laughed. "No, it's stupid."

"What?" He ran his fingers through Bucky's hair, loving the cat-like way Bucky pressed into his touch.

"You don't think they were trying to make sure we'd," he gestured between them, "you know. Do you?"

Steve blinked at him. "What, like we're some human version of sole mates?"

"Something like that."

"I don't know, Buck. The world's a weird place so I guess anything's possible. And however it happened, I'm damn glad I found you."

"Me too."

And then there were no more words, because they were too busy using their mouths for more important things, but Steve did spare room for a mental chuckle, because as romantic as the idea was, who'd ever heard of _human_ sole mates? 


End file.
